


Innocence and Arrogance

by medelrey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angry Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, sansa is a little antagonistic but nothing bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medelrey/pseuds/medelrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon loves her regardless, wrapping his hands around her small hips to pull her closer. Sansa lies just on the edge of the table; legs twisted around Jon’s waist as he fucks her so hard the heavy table moves under them. She’s so fucking pretty, caught on the wood with his name coming out of her mouth. “King in the North,” she says, glaring, “Am I to be your queen? Or shall you fuck me when I make you angry?”</p><p>Jon doesn’t answer, just bites his lip and thrusts harder, winding one hand behind her neck and into her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innocence and Arrogance

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: I would like to see one where Sansa over hears a conversation between Jon and Davos or Tormund where Jon confesses that he believes Sansa will betray him eventually in order to become Queen of the North. But that he isn't worried about that because the others are coming. He says that if he lives to see the end of the war, he'll disappear. Letting Sansa play the game of thrones with the south. That night, Sansa confronts Jon - upto you how that confrontation goes!
> 
> Title is from the song "My Mistakes Were Made For You" by The Last Shadow Puppets. It also inspired the fic.

“You don’t get it,” Sansa spits, glaring at Jon across the table in her solar. “You don’t know what it’s like to rule. You haven’t any idea how to play the game of thrones.”

“Aye? And you do, Sansa? What advice would you give me now? Have me counseled by Littlefinger? Let you rule the North by his side?”

“No,” she replies icily. “But I know where the threats are. I know what it means to lose everything and gain it all back. What have you learned, Jon? I told you Ramsay lays traps and you fell right into them. We’d be dead if not for me.”

“For you? Is that what all this is about? You want your name behind the victory? Take it, Sansa. You deserve it. But I know more than you think I do.”

She glares at him over her goblet of wine. “How can you be so naïve, Jon? Leading the Night’s Watch is not the same as King in the North.”

“Maybe it isn’t. But don’t stand there and preach to me like you know everything. You don’t. You never will. Just because you have Lord Baelish in your ear doesn’t make you smarter than any of us. Take the throne, if you want. Play the game; go south. But I promise you one thing. I’ve seen what’s coming and you’re not cut out for it. None of us are. Talk to me about ruling when the Long Night comes and we’re fighting a war amongst ourselves.”

Sansa gapes at him, burning with anger and seeing only red. “You just don’t get it.”

“Aye, then tell me what I don’t get, Sansa Stark. Advise me. Give me your all knowing wisdom.”

She reaches him in a matter of seconds, whipping around the table to face him. Sansa wants to slap him; to knock some sense in his head. But she’s too proud for that, knowing if she does, she’ll be admitting he’s right. She’s angry that Littlefinger’s gotten into her head once more and that’d she’d be so quick to betray the only brother she knows still exists.

And he is right, of course, like he almost always is. But Sansa won’t ever let him know that. Instead she stares at him, hand half in the air, ready to strike before Jon catches her wrist. She glares at him with daggers in her eyes, angry words catching in her throat before she can speak them. Jon looks at her with every bit of anger, too, his dark eyes looking into hers with recklessness. His gaze burns through her soul and Sansa wants nothing more in the world than Jon at her side.

In a moment of madness, Sansa kisses him instead, mashing their lips together in a fit of fury. Gods, his lips are soft, much softer than she thought they’d be and she can’t get enough. He hesitates at first before she urges him on with her hands on chest.

Jon hoists her on to the table, fisting his hands into her hair and returning her kiss with every bit of anger that’s been boiling between them.  
Sansa shoves her gown up her legs, allowing her to wrap herself around his hips and hold him close. She sighs as he kisses across her jaw, down her neck until his lips and teeth are the only thing she can feel in the entire world. She runs her hands along his shoulders, leaning her head back he so he can have more access. If Jon can make her pulse jump with only his lips on her neck, she can only imagine how it’d feel elsewhere.

She pulls him closer with her legs until he’s cradled between her thighs. Sansa likes the way she can feel him grow hard beneath his breeches; how heavy he feels against her skin, pressed taught against her smallclothes.

“Have you thought about this?” Jon asks, rubbing his hands over her ribcage.

“Haven’t you?”

Jon groans in response. She moves to unlace his breeches, keeping their eyes locked together with a different sort of heat. It doesn’t matter that she’s his sister; not when he’s buried so deep in her cunt that he can’t think straight. It doesn’t matter with the way she moans his name and her lips catch on the letters and her teeth gnash with how much she’s begging him to go harder.

Her gown catches on the wood grain of the table, the sound of the stitches tearing echoing across the room as she groans far too loudly. They’re both so angry; lost in how they treated each other; the pain of the last few years bubbling just under the surface. She’s angry she’s still the spoiled girl she always has been.

Jon loves her regardless, wrapping his hands around her small hips to pull her closer. Sansa lies just on the edge of the table; legs wrapped Jon’s waist as he fucks her so hard the heavy table moves under them. She’s so fucking pretty, caught on the wood with his name coming out of her mouth. “King in the North,” she says, glaring, “Am I to be your queen? Or shall you fuck me when I make you angry?”

Jon doesn’t answer, just bites his lip and thrusts harder, winding one hand behind her neck and into her hair.

“Shall I call you ‘Your Grace’ now?”

“Call me what you’d like,” he responds, pushing Sansa’s skirts further up her legs until he can see his cock sliding in and out of her. He’s mesmerized by the sight; her thighs slick with wetness. Gods, how he’s wanted to do this since the day she looked at him with awe when he let her end Ramsay’s life. How he’s wanted Sansa since she said he was a Stark to her and when he heard Littlefinger wanted her all for himself. How wrong it was, Jon knew, but he wasn’t the same man who was murdered by his brothers. There was a piece of darkness locked in him and he’d be damned if it wasn’t Sansa who held the key to unhinge him.

And Sansa’s mad, but not truly angry at him; not when Jon’s the only person who’s given her true safety. And it’s not his fault he’s so fucking honorable that he couldn’t tell the Stark bannermen no; that he wasn’t made to be King in the North or rule by himself.

But Sansa’s learned to play the game; and she’s learned to play it well. She’ll push and pull Jon until he’s at his breaking point like he is now, still fucking her with every ounce of tension that’s been buried in both of them since they met at Castle Black. Sansa digs her heels into the small of his back, pulling him forward until his cock so deep inside her all he can do his rut his hips against hers.

Jon fucks her for all it’s worth, slamming into her and digging his fingernails into the back of her neck. She’s so wet and warm, all for him, all his, spoiled, and everything in between. Sansa grips the edge of the table beneath her, biting back her moans as she pushes her hips toward Jon, grinding hard until her eyes roll back in her head.

He keeps his eyes locked on hers as he snakes a hand down her body, brushing his thumb over her covered breast, desperately wishing he would’ve had the patience to get it off her at the beginning. He finds his place at her swollen nub, rubbing it carefully in time with his thrusts as he slips in and out of her body. Sansa doesn’t have the energy to have a go at him anymore; just lets him send her to places she never dreamed existed.

Sansa grasps at his jerkin, pulling herself up until they’re chest to chest, her lips locked on his, nipping, biting until they’re purple from her harsh kisses. She pushes down every time Jon thrusts up, winding her arms around his neck to yank at his hair. He’s feels so absolutely good, stretching her, filling her, finding home inside her wet cunt. She moans in his ear as he hits a certain spot inside her, making her thighs shake with passion. She’s never peaked before but she’s sure she will now.

She locks her legs around his hips, knotting her fingers into his curls and pulling herself up so he’s sheathed even further inside of her. She comes with a cry, a whimper of his name, walls clamping down around him over and over until she feels like there’s no air left in her lungs. Sansa feels like she’s on fire, flames crawling up her skin and setting her alight with all that she feels inside.

“Are you going to come, Your Grace?” Sansa purrs, running her fingers under his tunic to feel his warm skin. She likes how his muscles twitch under her touch; how easily he’s affected by her.

Jon grips her hips hard, pulling out and spilling across her thighs. Sansa watches with wide eyes as he comes, cum sliding down her skin to drip on the table. She smirks at his his face, all slack-jawed and glassy eyed in pleasure. She’s never seen a better image in her entire life. She loves it.

There’s an awful feeling of emptiness as he wipes the mess off her skin with her smallclothes, and Sansa wishes they could do it all again. She fixes her skirts, brushing her fingers over his cheeks before she hops off the table on wobbly legs.

“Sansa…” Jon calls, looking after her as she hesitates in the doorway. “We need each other.”

“Yes,” she responds. “I know we do.” She gives a small smile as she leaves the room, knowing she’ll go to his chambers tonight. They’ll fight and pick, but he’s right. They need each other.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ mattysigh.


End file.
